Yin and Yang
by miasnape
Summary: Harry’s in an established relationship with someone he loves and who loves him, too. But is Harry in love with him? If he is, why does he keep thinking about Snape in that way? HPSS slash


Yin and Yang 

Summary – Harry's in an established relationship with someone he loves and who loves him, too.  But is Harry _in_ love with him?  If he is, why does he keep thinking about Snape in _that_ way?

Beta – Shuki (thanks)

Feedback to: angelbug_ni@yahoo.co.uk or miasnape@yahoo.co.uk 

Pairings – HP/SS, HP/NL, NL/DM (don't ask, just read it – it makes sense)

Genre – Romance

Rating – R

Warnings – None

Disclaimer – Not my characters – I just manipulated them

Authors' Notes – This was written as part of the SSHP Fuh-Q Fest on kardasi.com, the third wave (which has just concluded).  Hope ya'll enjoy it.

_I love him_, thought Harry, angry with himself.

_I love him – I really do, so why am I thinking about _him_ instead_?

Harry was sitting in the Great Hall at the staff table beside his partner.  He'd been with Neville since their fifth year at Hogwarts, after a night when Neville had been to visit his parents.  Harry had confessed to knowing what had happened with them and the Death Eaters and the Crucio – about Neville's visits to St. Mungo's mental health ward with his grandmother to see the people who no longer recognised him as their son.  He had told Neville how strong he thought he was for coping with it day after day, and how he deserved more than half of the sympathy Harry got from people for being orphaned at so young an age.

And Neville had kissed him.  He hadn't wanted it at the time, not precisely, but he hadn't been opposed to the idea, either.  And so he had kissed Neville back, not wanting to hurt his feelings.  And really, Neville wasn't so bad – he'd lost all of that puppy fat over the summer and was actually quite handsome. 

And although he'd never be the most intellectual person to have a discussion with, that was what friends were for, right?  And being interested in the things Harry liked – like Quidditch – well, it wasn't necessary, was it?  Because he could be with Neville and not care about plants but listen anyway.  And who needed Neville to listen to him about Voldemort?  He didn't approach that topic after the time Neville had broken down in tears.  And besides, Dumbledore and the others did that plenty.

Anyway, they'd kissed, and after a few weeks of just kissing they'd talked, and Neville had asked Harry to be his boyfriend.  And again, more out of a desire to protect Neville from more pain in his life, Harry had agreed.  After a few months, Harry found that being with Neville meant he didn't have to fend off more than those one or two very determined fans who thought he was destined to be with them – they all respected that he was 'Mrs Neville Potter'.  Also, he got to have sex pretty often.  Who really cared if Harry liked to switch between topping and bottoming (preferred to bottom, actually) – if Neville liked to bottom all the time, well, topping all the time was better than not doing it at all, right?  And who cared about experimenting in bed – if Neville was shy about that, he had to respect it, didn't he?

And he did grow to love Neville after the first year.  And Neville changed after becoming Harry's boyfriend; no longer the stuttering, forgetful and shy boy, but someone with quiet confidence who realised his voice deserved to be heard… except in potions, but Snape seemed to be especially hard on him when he had realised that he was Harry's partner.  Harry had supposed that some of the Potter-hating spread to whomever the Potter of the time was fucking as well as befriending – Ron and Hermione never exactly had an easy time of it, did they?

Over the years they'd become, well, cosy.  And Harry got used to being in a relationship like the one he had with Neville – one where he had a lot of independence and yet affection when he asked.  He wondered briefly why he had to ask, but then dismissed it only to ask himself why Neville didn't mind him having so much independence when he'd been so clingy in their early years.  He answered himself with the claim that Neville simply knew him better now – who wouldn't?

Yes, he loved Neville, and Neville often told Harry how much he loved him.  He was content with Neville Longbottom and their relationship.  They had both become teachers after Harry had finally killed Voldemort – for good this time – and they lived together in Gryffindor Tower.  Harry had been teaching DADA for three years now, proving that there was no curse on the job, or maybe that it had only been waiting for someone who was both competent _and_ available at all times of the month to teach.

After Sprout had died in the war and Harry had been offered the DADA position, Dumbledore had found a qualified Herbology replacement easily in the partner of his newest employee.  Harry had become Gryffindor House Head, too, but as Neville hadn't been a Hufflepuff (though god knew why) he couldn't take that place and it went to the latest CoMC teacher, a woman some ten years older than them.

The only other teacher who had been replaced at the time had been Minerva McGonagall, and while Harry had gotten her House Head responsibilities and Snape her Deputy Headmaster ones, her actual Transfiguration teaching position had gone to Draco Malfoy.  Snape had, rather seriously, told Dumbledore that she'd be rolling in her grave with two Slytherins taking her positions.

And thinking of Snape, he was the one he was staring at when he should have been staring at his partner.  In recent years, he'd been nice to Harry.  Not to Neville, for some unknown reason, but to Harry.  He'd told Harry he respected him as both a man and a teacher, and when the sentiment had been honestly retuned, they began to chat regularly in the staff room about those things he couldn't with Neville.

Snape hadn't aged since Harry had arrived at Hogwarts – he was on that plateau a wizard reaches at about thirty or forty when they don't change appearance (to disguise the age a wizard or witch can reach from the muggle world).  No, he hadn't changed except for having cleaner hair now, but somehow Harry was able to appreciate the inherent grace and poise and general sexiness of the man now he too was an adult.

Snape was sipping at his coffee delicately, sitting in his chair over at the other end of the staff table with perfect posture.  Harry, though, was slouched over the table, his entire upper-arm resting on the polished surface and his head resting in his cupped hand, waiting for Neville to finish eating and trying to stop himself staring at Snape, or even just come up with an acceptable reason why he was.

"Something wrong, Har'?"

Harry hated that nickname –absolutely hated it.  Snape scowled every time he heard it, but that was neither here nor there.  He looked up at his partner.  He would call him his lover, but they hadn't made love in about a month and a half, and for two twenty-two year old men, that was strange.

"Don't call me that, Neville."

"Why not?  And I told you to call me Nev."

"Har' just doesn't sound right to me, though I'll call you Nev if you like.  And no, nothing's wrong."

"You sure?  You seem pretty spaced."

"I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing, just… class."

"Oh.  I'm teaching the third years about the Mandragora on Monday."

Harry's eyes slid back to Snape as he listened to Neville drone on_.  Neville has a really boring voice_, he reflected.  _Not like Snape – his is so rich and full.  It's like melted dark chocolate – bitter and yet so rich and creamy; it's like liquid sex_.  He registered that Neville was still speaking.

"Do you remember the restorative draft Professor Sprout had to get those ready for in second year?  If she hadn't done it, just think… Hermione would still be a statue.  It was all thanks to her that those petrified people got back to normal."

Harry sat up straighter, in debate mode.

"Professor Snape made the potion, though – they both helped.  I've heard the potion they used can only be made and administered by a highly skilled potion's master.  Can you imagine if Lockhart had gotten his way in the end and made it?  I wouldn't like to think what state the dungeons would have been in.  It's really very lucky we had Professor Snape here at the time – he's the best potion's master in Europe, I think, if not more.  He got it right first go, too, or so I heard from Hermione.  That's really something."

Neville, when he turned to Harry, looked annoyed; a sight more often seen than people would think.

"Yes, but if Professor Sprout hadn't had the foresight to order some in the first place, and the skill to raise them into adulthood, Snape wouldn't have been able to do a thing, would he now?  And it takes a lot more skill and time to raise a plant properly than to brew a silly potion – it's certainly more often you come cross a skilled potion maker than a skilled Herbologist, so it can't be so hard to learn the trade… if you have a decent teacher.  No, Snape couldn't have made the potion if Professor Sprout hadn't put in so much time and effort."

Something inside Harry told him that Professor Snape knew perfectly well how to grow a mandrake into adulthood, and he was actually rather offended by the other comments himself.

"Neville, Professor Snape was a good teacher.  And being he's not just a potion's expert – he's a potions _master_."

"Well, I don't think he was a good teacher, and he was never exactly polite to anyone not in Slytherin."

Harry wanted to tell him about his own problems with wanting to favour Gryffindor, but to keep the peace he let his scowl slip off his face, hummed non-committally and said, "I suppose," softly, before going back to Snape-watching.

Neville started on again about the restorative properties of 'the Mandragora'.  Harry briefly wondered why Neville insisted on using the Latin terms – plant names were the only Latin Neville knew, pretty much.  He supposed Neville just liked people to know that he knew rather a lot about his subject.  But people knew that already – he _was_ a teacher, after all; did he have to show off?

Realising that if he stayed here he was either going to fall asleep or say something scathing to Neville which would end with him apologising anyway whether he meant it or not and Neville giving him the silent treatment for days, he interrupted to excuse himself to the library for research.  On looking back from the doorway, he saw that Neville – sorry, '_Nev_' – had now verbally latched onto Malfoy, who actually, for some strange reason, looked interested.  So interested he moved into Harry's empty seat.

"Are you planning on blocking the doorway all morning, professor, or are you actually headed somewhere?"

Harry fought the shiver that threaten to rise on hearing the melted-chocolate-voice and turned to look at Professor Snape.

"I'm actually headed to the library, professor, and please, call me Harry."

He'd been on at the man to call him by his given name all year, so why did it feel like a betrayal to Neville _now_?  And why did the answer feel so important?

"I'll think on it."

It was as positive an answer as he'd gotten.  He ignored the smile that wanted to break out over his face.

"For now, though, as we're destined for the same location, why don't we walk together?"

Harry realised that Snape was holding the door open for him like a gentleman, quashed the stray '_Neville never does that_' which ran through his mind, and walked through with a glance back, only to see that Neville now had his hand on Malfoy's arm in a gesture that looked more intimate than friendly.  And Draco was looking very pleased about it.  On noticing his frown, Snape followed his gaze and frowned too.  The door swung shut leaving them alone in the corridor.  Harry looked up to see the older man staring at him inscrutably.

"What?" he asked, inwardly squirming under the intensity of the gaze, but standing straight, challengingly.

"I'm just wondering why you chose him.  No, I _know_ why you chose him – I'm wondering why you still stay with him."

Harry flushed, uneasy.  Hadn't he just been thinking the same things?

"I… we're together because, well, because he's kind and affectionate.  He cares and he doesn't mind when I need space.  He's not pushy or intrusive and we have… history."

It was a heavily silent moment before Harry even thought to add, "and because I love him, of course," and it ended up rushed and insincere sounding.

Snape stared at him for another while, the silence making Harry uneasy yet again.

"I see."

And Harry began to worry that maybe he did see – maybe he saw just a little too much.

"We were headed for the library, correct?"

"Uhm, yeah.  I was going to do some research… for that paper I'm writing."

Snape nodded and they began to walk in the direction of Madam Pince's domain, chatting about Harry' theory on magic in defence.  He believed that it was possible to change someone's ability to do magic with a rather simple wandless spell, at least temporarily, so that it was impossible for him or her to fire certain types of curse or charm or hex.  It stemmed from the magic he had done to Voldemort, which had rendered him unable to Avada Kedavra anyone in the short time it took Harry to say his own killing spell and make sure Voldemort was no longer a threat to anyone – mudblood or not.

No one knew how he had done it – including Harry – so he had been working on a theoretical paper to explain it for the past two years.  He was nearing a solid explanation, but needed someone as a sounding board.  He needed someone with a good knowledge of dark arts and their defence.  Normally he would ask the DADA professor, but seeing as that was himself, he decided to go to the person who everyone suspected of wanting the job.

"Professor, would it be possible to meet somewhere and discuss this regularly?  I'd ask Neville, but he doesn't understand half of the theory and he gets upset when I mention Voldemort.  Besides, I think you'll enjoy cutting me down when I get too over-the-top.  Please?"

He tried the wide-eyed, pity-me pout, and soon found Snape laughing at him.  Luckily they were at a table in the back corner of the restricted section, so no students were around to have a heart attack at the sound, and any teachers wouldn't have cared.

"_Harry Potter_, wherever did you come up with _that_ look?"

Harry grinned.  It was one of his better ones.

"I used to use it on Hermione when we wanted to do something that was, uhm, not quite within the school's rules.  Worked every time."

"I've no doubt – women are suckers for that kind of thing."

"Oh, Neville falls for it too."

"Shouldn't that be 'Nev'?"

Snape raised an eyebrow questioningly as Harry almost fell out of his seat in shock.

"_Har_'," he added, spitefully.

Harry was as pale as a ghost.  He laughed nervously.

"You heard that conversation, then."

Snape looked at him with a little more compassion in his eyes than Harry would have expected.

"I've lost count of the amount of times you've asked him not to call you that, and that's in public – I'm sure he does it in private, too."

Harry nodded.

"Hmm… he doesn't listen to you.  You defended me – or rather my skills – rather fervently all the same."

Harry felt his face heat up and looked self-consciously down at the grain of the table they sat at, tracing it with a thumbnail through the polish.

"Your skills in potion making are formidable, professor – they deserve to be defended."

"Hmm."

Harry looked up.

"I apologise if Neville offended you – I rather expect he didn't think you could hear, not that that's an excuse.  I certainly didn't think you were listening – I mean, that's not why I defended you."

"I didn't think it was.  Neville Longbottom, however, offends me with his presence, not his comments."

Harry looked up questioningly, all thoughts of research lost in the book under his elbows.

"Why do you dislike him so much?  We, that is Hermione, Ron and I, we used to think it was because you hated me and he was my boyfriend, but you don't seem to dislike me anymore, in fact we're rather good friends, so that can't be it, right?"

"Wrong."

Harry felt a stabbing in his chest and fought the tears which threatened to show in his eyes as Snape stood and turned to leave, potions volume in hand.

"Really, professor, do you still dislike me?"

His voice was a little thicker and a whole lot more hurt sounding than he would have liked it to be.

"Because, as I said, I like you rather a lot – I consider you a close friend and a good man."

Without turning back to look at Harry, Snape spoke, voice soft.

"I never said that I disliked you – I said that you were wrong, Harry.  The fact that he is your boyfriend _is_ why I dislike him – not that I don't like you.  Rather to the contrary – I like you more than is seemly."

Harry's breath caught and he stood.  Walking forward, he placed a hesitant hand on Snape's arm to turn him around, but without using it yet, he spoke.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean."

Snape spun around and Harry found himself backed against a bookshelf, the wrist of the hand he had rested on Snape held in a tight, almost painful, grip.  A few inches away, Snape looked about ready to kill someone, but it wasn't hatred in his eyes – it was pain, and it was directed at Harry.  Harry held his breath as he stared into the face that had been haunting his thoughts for the past… he didn't know how long, but a very long time.

"Harry, you're a beautiful, attractive young man with a brilliant sense of humour, a surprising amount of intellect and great character.  Unfortunately for both of us, you also have a lover who is neither appreciative of you, nor a good person to be around.

"It is unfortunate for you because he is not good enough for you and he uses you and your fame to ensure that he feels big and important.  Of course, I don't think you've seen this until recently – you've always been too ignorant of the faults of others if they didn't shine out immediately.

"It is unfortunate for me because he is standing in my way.  If I had the opportunity to take you and teach you exactly how you should be loved, I would in an instant.

"Do you understand now, Harry?"

Harry stood there, breathing heavily though he'd not said a word himself.

Trying to stop himself from sobbing, he spoke.

"I… I honestly, I had no idea, I mean…"

Snape moved back a little, letting go of Harry's wrist, and Harry slid into his seat, letting his head rest on his hands.

He felt Snape's presence beside him as he thought.  Finally he looked up with a shocked, realising expression on his face.

"I'm not in love with Neville."

His shoulders felt lighter for having said it, but Snape was frowning at him.

"I beg your pardon."

"_I'm not in love with Neville_.  I mean," Harry continued, oblivious to the severe look he was getting, "I love him, certainly – I've been his friend since my first year here and his partner since fifth, so of course I do – but I've never been _in_ love with him."

He looked up at Snape with a small, watery smile.

"And you, you bastard; you just had to go and make things more difficult for me, didn't you?"

Snape's frown was deepening with confusion and doubt as he sat back in his previous seat.

"I don't understand."

Harry laughed, a bitter bark of laughter.

"I believe you.  I didn't understand myself until just then.  Did you know that I've been thinking about you almost non-stop for the past, it would have been… yes, for about half a year, now?  _Non-stop_.  And just thinking about you from time to time on a daily basis since my sixth year?"

The expression on Snape's face answered a rather direct 'no' for him.

"No, I don't expect you did.  Neville didn't, that's for sure.  Not even Ron or Hermione knew.  I'd be surprised if even Dumbledore knew, because I told no one.  I didn't understand until now – I'm not in love with Neville.

"I felt so guilty – how could be thinking about someone else when I was right there next to him?  I even once called your name when I came, but he thought I said Nev, and I told myself that's what I had meant.  But I said 'Sev', and I'm not in love with Neville."

Snape was still trying to figure Harry's revelations out, never mind connect them to that one statement that Harry kept repeating – the one he didn't dare take any hope from although he ached to.  He looked up and found that Harry was staring into space above his head, a miserable expression on his face.

"I'm not in love with Neville, but I'm fighting to keep myself from falling in love with you.  I'm fighting _so_ hard, because Neville doesn't deserve it – he didn't do anything to deserve it.  But I'm afraid I won't be able to fight it much longer, not now I know how you feel about me."

Harry looked back down at Severus, a sad expression on his face.

"I have no idea what to do.  I need… I need to think things over.  If Neville hadn't been so innocent in all of this I'd be with you in a shot, but he is, so… I need to think."

His expression turned pleading.

"Please, Severus – can I call you Severus?"

Snape snorted.

"There seems to me to be no point in not now."

Harry smiled weakly again, but he still looked pleadingly at the older man.

"Severus, could you please wait for me to come talk to you?  I need to think, I need to talk to Neville, and I need to think some more, and when I have… can I come talk to you again?"

Severus nodded.

"Harry, I told you earlier I'd be there in an instant, but I've held back this long – I can hold back some more.  Take all the time you need, or even all the time you want if that's longer."

"Can I… I just, I need…"

He trailed off, and then stood up.  Severus stood as well, and was thoroughly unprepared for the kiss Harry bestowed on him when he did.

It was hot and gentle and passionate.  It was full of longing and pain and hope and things neither man could identify.

Harry's arms curled up around Severus' neck and Severus pulled Harry closer, threading his arms about the slender waist.  Their tongues met inquisitively and then explored the other's mouth before backing off.  Lips parted with a gentle wet noise and arms went limp, sliding off their perches.

"I'm sorry, I just had to know in case I didn't get the chance again," Harry told the floor.  A long-fingered hand pulled his chin up and forced him to meet the eyes of the man he had just kissed so intensely.

"I understand, Harry, just… don't make a habit of it unless you're sure you can, if you know what I mean?"

_It would just be too painful_, Severus thought, as he looked down into emerald green and let go of the chin.

"I know, yes.  I'm going to… I'm going to go think some now.  I'm glad it's the start of the weekend – I'd never be able to teach."

He looked hesitantly back as he reached the door, still quite shaky.

"If I need to find you, where will you be?"

"My quarters, trying to take my mind off you.  I wouldn't be surprised if there's alcohol involved."

Harry smiled slightly.

"I'll see you?"

Severus nodded and Harry left with one lingering, hopeful look.  Between that and the kiss and that line which echoed in his head; "_I'm not in love with Neville, but I'm fighting to keep myself from falling in love with you_," well, he couldn't help but feel a small measure of hope.  So he picked up his potions volume and left the library to chase it with a large measure of Jack Daniels.

Meanwhile Harry had retreated to Gryffindor Tower.  He sat in the silent living room for a quarter of an hour before getting up to go to the bathroom. He was there, drying his hands, when the door opened, and he was about to call out to Neville when he heard a voice that was distinctly not Neville's.  He heard a voice that was distinctly Malfoy.

"Are you sure he won't be back?  He said he was only going to the library at breakfast, and that was almost an hour ago."

Harry narrowed his eyes.  Why was Malfoy concerned with when he'd be back from the library?  Then Neville's voice spoke – so he _was_ there.

"He goes to research some crap about You Know Who.  He's there for hours reading and writing notes and talking to people – usually Snape.  He's been doing it for years now, and he's getting no further – I don't know why he bothers."

"Are you complaining?"

"Not this time – it gives us time to do this."

There was the sound of a wet kiss and clothing rustling.  There was a breathy giggle he knew for Neville's though he hadn't heard it in over a month, and then a deeper, nasal laugh.

Harry didn't have to look; he knew what was going on.

He heard more kissing and rustling and laughing and gasping and moaning before Neville spoke again.

"Come into the bedroom."

"You want me to fuck you in Potter's bed?"

"And I want it to be good."

"No worries about that."

Harry almost threw up. Neville was not only kissing Malfoy – he could have forgiven _that_ after what he'd done earlier this morning – but he was asking him to fuck him, and he was asking him to do it in their bed – the bed they'd designed together, for Merlin's sake.

Harry grew cold.  He opened the bathroom door when he heard the bedroom one bang against the door frame – it wasn't even shut properly, having bounced back about a foot – and moved to the chair opposite the door.  He didn't know why he was making himself do this, but he felt he had to.

At first there was nothing loud enough to get past the sounds of clothing against clothing, but then the talking started up again.

"Too many clothes – take them off."

"You're impatient."

"Always am with you."

Harry felt a knife go through his heart.

"But not this impatient – I've been with you two months and you've never been this insatiable."

So Neville'd been being fucked by two men at the same time?  No wonder they hadn't been having sex lately – he'd been getting enough without having to bother Harry for more.

"Mmm…"

"I think this being Potter's bed turns you on even more."

"Ah!"

"It does, doesn't it?  Well, it turns me on more too.  Just think, later tonight he'll climb into this bed beside you and not know that just hours earlier his long term fucking live-in lover was getting screwed into the covers by his old school-nemesis."

"Do that again, Drake!  Oh, fuck, feels so good!"

Malfoy continued his little commentary as Neville continued to make wanton noises.

"Not knowing that his boyfriend was sucking my cock like a good little whore."

The sounds told Harry that his boyfriend was indeed sucking Malfoy's cock like a good little whore.

"That's it, suck me.  And then he'd wonder why you didn't want to have sex again tonight because he wouldn't know that it was because your arse was still sore from having my cock shoved so far and so hard up it so many times."

There was the sound of a drawer being opened hard and a clink of glass – their jar of lubrication.

The first hoarse shout from Neville indicated that he was actually getting the treatment he asked for – he was getting fucked, and well fucked, in the bed he shared with Harry.

"That's it, take it, you whore.  You're Harry Potter's whore and now you're mine.  That's it, take it – you like it hard, don't you?"

There was a sharp crack of a slap after a short delay.

"I said, 'don't you'?"

"Yes!" Neville hissed out, obviously enjoying himself.

That was another nail in the coffin – Harry had been told time and time again to go slow, go soft; that Neville didn't like it rough; that he didn't want to be hurt; that it scared him.  And now there he was getting slapped and slammed into so hard it was audible in the next room.

"That's right, I'm fucking Harry Potter's whore, and he'll never know."

"Yes!  Harder!"

"Take it like the whore you are, Longbottom!"

Harry, now no longer angry or even sad, just sat there numbly.

Obviously not only was Neville only too happy to cheat on the person he'd been going out with for the past six years, he was turned on by it and unworried about the fact that the person he was doing it with was only using him for his association with Harry.  He seemed to enjoy that bit, actually.

Harry sat and listened as they happily screamed about fucking in Harry Potter's bed; about Harry never knowing; about Harry being a fucking stupid fuck and about Harry sleeping in the bed they were about to come all over.

After two long, lingering yells of 'Nev' and 'Drake' there was only the sound of heavy breathing.  It reminded him of how he had felt when Severus had told him the truth about his feelings for him.  It reminded him of how Severus had said Neville wasn't a good person to be around.  It reminded him that as soon as the two bastards in the other room came out and saw him, he was actually going to be able to stay calm, because he knew where he'd be going after.

And come out of the bedroom the two bastards did, both stopping short when they saw him sitting in the chair facing the bedroom door, legs crossed, arm crossed and a neutral expression on his face.  Their eyes widened comically and Malfoy stopped trying to button up his robes.

"Well, I could have recorded _that_ and sold it to a pornographer."

His voice was calm, but not the dangerous _too_ calm he could do and that both men knew well enough to have been able to recognise.

"Harry, I-," Neville began, but Harry cut him off.

"Save it.  I don't care, I really don't. In fact I came here early because I wanted to talk to you.  I wanted to tell you I wasn't in love with you.  I wanted to tell you I was in love with someone else who wanted me too.  I was going to give you a chance to talk to me.  I _wasn't_ going to tell you that you're a boring twit with nothing going for him except a modicum of knowledge as regards Herbology and your association with me, and I _wasn't_ going to tell you that I only ever started this relationship and kept it out of pity for you, but, oops…"

Harry stood, smirking at them.

"It just slipped out.  Now I'm going to go get some clothes for tomorrow, because I doubt Severus has any in my size, and considering what we'll be doing later, I've no doubt I'll need them."

He revelled in the shocked expressions on both men's faces.

"I'll be by tomorrow to talk about the quarters after I've talked to Severus, so please make sure you're not fucking all day.  Then again," he gave a derisive look at Malfoy, "maybe now you're not 'Harry Potter's Whore' he won't be interested."

He pushed past them into the room only to find that they hadn't cleaned up yet.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of the drying semen on the covers and went to the wardrobe to pull out robes to wear the next day and a small bag to carry them and other things he might need in.  He added the jar of lubrication – closing its lid tight – just to be spiteful: if they wanted to fuck, they could damn well use stuff he hadn't made himself.  On that note, as he went to leave the bedroom, he turned to Malfoy.

"Did you know I made that lube up myself?  I didn't think so or else you would have been shouting that out too."

He popped into the bathroom and plucked his stuff out of there, too, walking to the door to the rest of the school.  Before opening it, he turned back to the two men who had yet to say anything past, "Harry, I…"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Neville, I'm not in love with you and I'm not coming back – you're finished as far as I'm concerned."

He opened the door, mindful of the few Gryffindor seventh years that were walking past and Filch looking up at him from some spill as he walked out into the corridor.

"And let it be known, Neville, that I'm the one who's fucking leaving you and not vice versa.  I'm sure Severus will have fun finding that out.  Bye now, oh, and have a nice day to you too, Malfoy – you certainly had a good morning."

And he had shut the door quietly and gently before smiling broadly and practically skipping off down the corridor.  He nodded briefly to the shocked Filch.

"Good afternoon, Argus."

"G'd afternoon, Professor," he replied, still somewhat stunned when Harry turned the corner and left his sight.

The students stopped and stared at each other, only to look up again when the door to what had been Professors Potter and Longbottom's quarters opened again and a rather frightened and dishevelled looking Professor Malfoy came out, hair ruffled and face flushed, robes still not quite done up.

"No, Neville, I'll, I'll see you sometime… yeah, sometime…" and slammed the door shut before scuffling past them at quite a speed.

There was silence for a moment before…

"Oh Merlin!"

"Did you just see…?"

"Professor Potter must have…"

"Malfoy's never been good news; he must have been…"

"Professor Longbottom's got some nerve, he…"

"Professor Snape?  Do you think he…?"

Filch fought a smirk as the gossiping children disappeared – it looked as though the afternoon would be spent by most people in Hogwarts doing a lot of nice, clean gossiping – no muddy floors there.  He stood up, cracked his back and went off towards the staff-room.  He had something to tell the rest of the professors…

Severus, meanwhile, was sat in his own quarters drinking, rather like Neville was at the time.  But unlike the herbology professor, he was entirely unaware of what had happened, never mind that Harry was currently barrelling down corridors with a smile on his face and a bag in his hand, until the knock came on his door.

When he opened it to find Harry he raised an eyebrow but soon found himself with a rather squirmy Harry Potter in his arms and a mouth on his.

"Mm, you taste like whiskey," Harry said, as he pulled back, "malty."

"Yes, drinking malt whiskey will do that to a person.  Did you do your thinking, then?  And your talking?"

Harry grinned and indicated the bag in his hand.

"Can I stay the night?"

Severus closed the door and leant against it.

"Did you talk to Neville?" he asked, cautiously not answering.

Harry sighed and sat uninvited down on a chair, what had happened just now registering properly.  Severus sat down and looked at the depressed man in front of him.

"I went to think – I went to my rooms.  I _was_ thinking, and I was waiting for Neville.  I got up to go to the bathroom."

He laughed dryly.

"Such a simple thing – you never think it'll change your life."

Severus frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"He came back, but he wasn't alone."

"He wasn't?"

"No, and it wasn't a mandrake with him, either; it was a man called Drake."

He leant back and closed his eyes.

"For the past two months, Draco fucking Malfoy has been screwing Neville."

Severus choked on the sip of Jack Daniels he had just taken.

"Yeah, I felt just about that, too.  Just think, half an hour ago I'd been sitting telling you that Neville was innocent and I didn't want to hurt him, and the whole time he'd been making googoo eyes over the breakfast table at Draco Malfoy.

"And it wouldn't even be so bad if he hadn't _known_ that all Malfoy was doing was, and I swear I'm quoting here, 'fucking Harry Potter's whore'.  And they both got off on that!  I was sitting there, listening the whole time while they fucking screamed about fucking in the bed I'd shared with the person I'd been with for almost _seven fucking years_!  And do you know what stopped me from walking in there and smacking them?"

Severus shook his head in negative, still shocked about what kind of day Harry was having.

"The fact that I was actually glad it had happened."

Severus narrowed his eyes.

"You were glad your partner for the past six years has been sleeping with someone behind your back – in your bed?"

"Oh, today was the first time in our – in _his_ bed.  No, not glad he had been cheating on me, but glad because now I had my reason to leave him for you without feeling guilty.  Because I was going to leave him for you, you know."

Severus sat down his glass, knelt on the floor, and pulled Harry into his arms.

"I love you, you know, you big git, and not only that, but I'm in love with you."

Severus breath caught.

"I thought you were falling?"

"I stopped fighting it," was all Harry said before leaning back and kissing Severus again.

When they pulled back, Severus stayed close.

"I'm in love with you, too, Harry Potter.  Stay with me?"

"I brought stuff for tonight; it's right over…" Harry said, indicating his bag only to have a finger pressed against his lips mid-sentence.

"No.  No, let Longbottom keep the rooms in Gryffindor Tower and _stay_ with me."

Harry moved back and saw seriousness in Severus' eyes.

"You know, for a person who didn't call me 'Harry' before today, that's quite the big step."

"I didn't call you Harry because I couldn't call you mine.  Will you stay?"

Harry beamed and nodded before hugging him.

"Yours.  But you should get up off your knees – I want to come sit by you on the sofa."

Severus sat up and Harry moved so that he was settled with his back against the arm of the sofa, legs across Severus' and arm around the taller man's back, another around his own, holding him tight, his head resting on Severus' shoulder.

"So you listened to them the whole time?"

Harry nodded.

"I had to – I just needed to know _why_.  I sure found out.  I wonder how many other people have thought of Neville as my 'whore' before?"

Severus pressed a kiss to his temple.

"None anymore."

"No.  But I did talk to him… I just didn't let him talk back.  The only thing he said was, 'Harry, I', before I started packing.  I told him I'd be up tomorrow to talk about the quarters.  Guess I'll use that time to move all my things down… if you're still sure."

"Positive.  But what did you say to them?"

"I told Neville that I loved you and that I wasn't in love with him; that I'd come up early to tell him about you. I told him he was a 'boring twit', and that he was only good at herbology.  Actually, I think I told him he had a modicum of talent, which isn't quite the same."

"It's the truth though."

"Yeah, and I basically told him the only thing he had going for him was that I'd been with him, and I doubt he'll argue when he'd just enjoyed being called my whore."

"It would be difficult to," Severus agreed.

"I told him we were finished and that I was the one who was ending it.  Draco I told that I made the lube they'd used and to have a nice day."

"That was friendly of you."

"I rather thought so, but I don't blame him – I should have known he try something like that in the end.  Oh!  Uhm… how do you feel about the whole castle knowing your and my business by the time we go to lunch?"

Severus looked at his watch.

"In under an hour?  You work fast."

"Well, you already knew that – look how fast I wound up here.  But seriously, I may have said the bit about Malfoy having a nice day and being over and you finding me doing the dumping funny at the door where Filch and some seventh year Gryffindor girls were walking by."

He cringed in case Severus was going to get angry.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you or you didn't want anyone to know."

Severus turned Harry's face to him for the second time that day with gentle fingers.

"Why would I be embarrassed about being with you – about you leaving Longbottom for me, no less?  Why wouldn't I want everyone to know?"

Harry flushed and averted his eyes but couldn't move his head away.

"Because I'm me.  You never found who I am impressive, and you used to hate me…" he whispered.

He soon found a hot, wet mouth tracing kisses over his face and closed his eyes, sighing contentedly.

"I used to hate you when you were a child.  I love you now and have for a long time.  I love who you are, not who people think you are.  I find _you_ very, very impressive, and I'm in no way embarrassed to be with you, my Harry."

Harry felt tears in his eyes.

"I really am in love with you, Severus."

"I know, Harry.  I can feel it.  I'm in love with you."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to feel it.  He felt a warm hand caressing his cheek and soft, moist lips press repeatedly to his forehead.  He felt an arm around his back, supporting him, and a finger tracing patterns on his hip.

"I'm in love with you, Harry Potter," said more firmly this time, and he felt it.

"I know," he smiled, opening his eyes and pressing his lips against Severus', "I know."

The kiss mirrored the one in the library; it was just as hot and gentle and passionate, but it was full of completeness and joy and love this time as well.  It was altogether a nicer kiss, and when Harry pulled back he smiled.

"It was never like this with Neville.  I think you're special."

"I think you're special, so maybe it's just us together."

"We're special."

"And we're going to be late for lunch if we continue in this vein."

"Can we continue after lunch and have dinner sent to our rooms?"

Just saying 'our rooms', though he'd said it a thousand times before, sent a thrill through his spine.  It wasn't 'our: Neville and Har's,' rooms, it was 'our: Severus and Harry's,' rooms.

"Is that a message you want to send to the school?"

"That I'm down here getting my brains fucked out by you half a day after I broke up with Neville?"

"Exactly."

"That's precisely the message I want to send to the school.    It's the message I want to send to the staff – two members in particular – and it's the message I want to send to the world."

"Can't argue with that," Severus said, not wanting to particularly, "but if that's so why don't we stay here and get lunch in?"

"Because I want the school to see that I'm not down here crying my eyes out.  I want Neville to see that I meant it when I told him I loved you and was going to break up with him anyway.  I want to be a good example to my house and show them to be diplomatic and brave as well as in love after having found out something like I just have."

"Good enough reasons, but I just realised something."

"What?"

Severus snorted.

"I'm going to be living with the head of Gryffindor House."

Harry giggled at the disdain in his voice, knowing it was only half fake and completely empathising.

"And I'm going to be living with the head of Slytherin house.  So?  It sends a strong message for inter-house co-operation."

Severus did something unexpected.  He tickled him.

Harry shrieked with laughter as Severus spoke.

"I see your fiendish plan – you're using me to further your career in school politics."

"S-s-stop, ple-ea-easssssssse!!!  Ti-hick-le-ss!"

Severus snorted and said, "Well, that was the point," but stopped.

Harry immediately glared.

"That was just plain evil!"

"I'm a Slytherin, what can I say?"

"You're not just a Slytherin," Harry told him wrapping both arms around him and settling his face in the crook of a pale, blemish-free neck.

"I'm not?"

"No," came Harry's muffled voice, "You're _The_ Slytherin – the Head Slytherin.  You're the Slytherin Sex God."

Severus snorted.

"You are!  And you're _my_ Slytherin."

Severus settled his head down on the cushion that was Harry's thick, unruly hair.

"I'm your Slytherin and you're my Gryffindor."

"Yin and Yang," Harry pointed out.

"Mmm.  If Yin wants to show at lunch, all civil and diplomatic and brave and in love, we're going to have to go now."

"Can we hold hands in the corridor, Yang?"

"On the way back."

"Can we sit together at the table?"

"If you promise to behave."

"I'll be good.  Can we rut like minks when we come back?"

"No."

Harry felt shaken and hurt.

"No?  Don't… don't you want me that way?"

"I want you in every way, but our first time together is not going to be rutting like minks.  When we get back I'm going to make long, hard, passionate love to you in our bed."

There was silence for a while, but Severus felt Harry smile into his neck.

"You should really stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Saying something that gets me all worried and hurt and then turning it around and making me feel even better than I would have when it's good news, not bad.  I shouldn't have to go from sad to ecstatic in the space of one of your explanatory sentences."

"I'll try to keep you at one end of the scale or another."

"Try for ecstatic."

"Tonight, now lets go to lunch."

They slowly parted and stood.

"I'm in love with you, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled.

"I'm in love with you, Severus Snape."

Harry leant up and brushed his lips against Severus'.

"Okay then, let's go!"

Despite his cheery exterior, Harry's heart was thumping.  Neville had hurt him – they'd been together since Harry's fifth year, and he'd loved him, how could he not be hurt?  And now he had to face both him _and_ the man who'd been fucking him not even a couple of hours ago?

"Harry, you'll do great.  Just remember that you were the one to leave him, and that you were going to do it anyway.  They'll be more scared of you than you are of them."

Harry smiled up at the gentle voice.

"How do you know my heart?"

"I can feel it," Severus answered for the second time that day.  Harry laughed.

"Let's go."

They did.

As they got further and further into the more populated areas of the castle, people stopped and stared, obviously looking for more titbits of gossip.  They got them when, as Harry's step got more sluggish, Severus put a gentle hand on his back and Harry smiled at him brightly, lovingly.

When Harry walked into the room he noticed Severus' usual chair was already populated on both sides.  He turned to Severus questioningly, and received a push in his own usual chair's direction.  He was waiting for Severus to walk down to his chair, but Severus plonked himself down in Neville's old seat and turned to meet his gaze.  It was an obvious statement, saying 'I'm taking his place'.  Harry grinned, but then Neville came in.  His grin faltered, as did conversation in the hall.  Even the other teachers gawped unabashedly.

Neville had started towards his seat before noticing it was filled.  He had stopped and looked at the empty seat between Harry and Malfoy (who was being surprisingly silent and looking completely absorbed by his napkin) and the only other empty seat – Severus' old one.

Harry looked up at him, shrugged, and then turned to Severus.

"I hope your house is ready to be beaten into the ground by mine next week in Quidditch."

It was said loudly and clearly, and Severus smirked for quite a while at the obviousness before responding.

"Well, as Gryffindor no longer have Boy Wonder or his trainee playing as seeker, I think we have a chance of turning the tables, Harry."

He stressed the 'Harry' part, making Harry smile sweetly – too sweetly.

"Wanna bet?"

Severus, now looking at the smug face of Professor Potter, proud head of house, studied him for a moment, knew he really shouldn't, but being a proud head of house himself, found himself unable to resist, and took the bait.

"How much?"

People were still listening, because Neville hadn't taken a seat yet.  He was watching Harry and Severus talking for signs of more than friendship before he dared choose a seat.

"No money.  We win, you wear red and gold for a week, you win, I wear silver and green."

There was some nervous giggling from Gryffindor and Slytherin tables as they each pictured the rival head dressed in their colours.

Severus contemplated.

"Done," he said, extending his hand.  Harry shook it with a smile, but when he tried to pull back it was taken to Severus' mouth and kissed lingeringly, Severus' gaze never leaving his, practically burning the air between them as they continued to stare long after the hand was lowered but not dropped.

Neville scooted down the table to take Severus's old seat and conversation started up again – at the student table at least.  The other professors weren't about to leave this situation unstable like that – they wanted the facts.

Harry generally sat one seat away from Dumbledore, and in the space between them, Neville had sat.  So now Severus was stuck beside an inquisitive Headmaster.  He hadn't noticed yet, though, because he and Harry hadn't stopped the staring - he hadn't even let go of Harry's hand yet.

So, in his little world with only one other person, he _almost_ jumped when someone pointedly tapped his shoulder.  Instead he broke his gaze with Harry oh so slowly and reluctantly and turned to the headmaster, only letting go of the warm hand when it hindered the turning process.

"Headmaster," Severus accepted with a nod.

The headmaster pinned him with a piercing look – he was obviously unhappy with not having been in the loop.

"Severus, if there is one thing I pride myself on, it's a staff that get on well."

"Some of your staff appear to have been getting on a little better than perhaps they should have."

Harry snorted, but insinuated his right hand into Severus' left.  Whether as comfort for himself, Severus, or both, he didn't know.

"Would you like to explain your comment, Severus?"

Harry squeezed his hand.

"While I admit to have been harbouring strong feelings for another member of staff for quite some time," he raised his and Harry's joint hands into Dumbledore's view, "this member of staff, to be precise, I never acted on it because he was involved with another member of staff," he nodded down the table to where Neville was shooting them some not-so-subtle looks, "that one."

The tone on the last was derisive and sharp, but Dumbledore nodded.

"I'm with you so far Severus."

"Very well, as I said, I never acted on it, but another member of staff," he jerked his head backwards, obviously indicating the sullen Draco Malfoy, "appears to have no such scruples.  He and Harry's _ex_ partner instigated a relationship, which, shall we say, was neither above board nor in any way to be confused with a romantic affair.

'Before this was discovered there was a discussion between myself and Harry and some things were revealed.  Before either of us acted on these things, Harry decided to think things over and speak with his partner."

"Rather sensible idea," Dumbledore allowed, eyes beginning to twinkle again.

"However, while thinking, he came across an encounter between Longbottom and Professor Malfoy.  Upon their… completion and a discussion, Harry left his partner and came to me.  I, now that there was nothing and no one standing in my way, took the readily offered proposal of a relationship with Harry.  You will find that Harry and I are now a couple – he has agreed to move down to my, no, our quarters tomorrow.  As for Professors Longbottom and Malfoy, I have no idea, but although I will not be actively taunting them, they will not find themselves invited to private tea-parties any time soon."

"I would think not."

Dumbledore was actually chuckling.

"Good luck in your relationship Severus and Harry – may it be long and blessed."

Harry grinned shyly and squeezed Severus' hand once more before letting go so that he could eat.

Just as the meal was about to finish, Dumbledore spoke again.

"Professors Longbottom and Malfoy."

The two in question looked up nervously.

"I wish to see you as soon as possible in my office regarding conduct unbecoming of a Hogwarts professor."

Harry's mouth gaped open.

"Sir, Headmaster, I hardly think that's necessary!"

Dumbledore turned to him and smiled benignly.

"It may have worked out for the best, Harry, but the means were not the best at all.  It is necessary, although I will keep your opinion in mind while dealing with them."

Harry swallowed hard and bit his lip before nodding and looking at Severus, who was emanating support.

Harry stood up and walked towards Neville.  The whole room yet again stopped chattering.  He stopped about a foot away.

"Neville, we'll talk some more somewhere more private, but I just have to say I'm sorry it ended this way."

Neville looked at him, obviously worried he was about to get blasted across the room.  He jumped when Harry stuck out his hand, but when he realised that there was no wand in it pointed towards him, he relaxed and stood.  He took Harry's hand and they shook.  Harry smiled a little before letting go and walking towards Severus.

"Let's go."

Severus stood, grabbed his hand and they walked out of the room, the door shutting behind them just slowly enough to hear the sudden tumult of conversation.

Alone for the second time that day in the same place, they looked at each other.

"So, Yin, how're you feeling?"

Harry grinned – he could tell he'd started a thing with that.

"Are we going back to our rooms?"

A nod and they started to walk.

"Did I just show my Gryffindors what diplomacy was?"

"Indeed."

"Are we going to make 'long, hard, passionate love' in our bed?"

Severus stopped him and swung him around to face him, pressing his lips against Harry's cheek as he spoke.

"We are going to make very long, very hard, and very, very passionate love in our very own bed, Professor Potter, for a very, very, _very_ long time."

Harry grinned.

"Well then I'm feeling good, Professor Snape."

They started walking again.

"Just good?"

"Very good?" Harry tried.

"You'll be feeling bloody fantastic later."

"Really?"

"You don't believe me?"

"Oh, I believe you – I think I'll feel _very_ bloody fantastic by the time you're through with me."

"No."

"Is this one of those things?"

"One of what things?"

"One of those things where I jump from ecstatic to sad and then back up again?"

"Maybe."

"What did you mean?"

"I meant I'll never be finished with you."

"See, that's it again."

"Feel ecstatic?"

"Oh, yes."

"That's nothing."

"Oh, I don't doubt it…"

Epilogue 

A week later Professors Malfoy and Longbottom were _not_ involved and were, in fact, studiously ignoring each other.  When they weren't jointly supervising Christmas shopping trips to Diagon Alley, that was – part of their punishment for that 'conduct unbecoming of a Hogwarts' professor'.  And it _was_ punishment when they had to listen to sixth-year girls giggle and chat while oh-so-slowly picking out gifts, or to stop boys of all houses and years from running down into Knockturn Alley.

Severus and Harry, however, had just watched the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin conclude, and were staring at each other, one with a smirk and the other with a horrified, pleading expression.

"I told you we stood a chance."

"But…"

"But, nothing.  You made the bet."

"It, it was a diversion at the time!  Diversions don't count!"

"Professor Potter, you will wear green and silver, and you will wear them with pride.  One would think you didn't want to be affiliated with Slytherin house."

Harry grinned and slid closer.

"Only one part of it, and I'm as affiliated with it, or should I say him, as I can get."

"Well then you won't mind wearing my colours."

Harry sighed.

"Fine, you do it, you big git."

A wave of a wand and Harry Potter was dressed up like it was Slytherin Pride Week.  Severus Snape was looking at him rather more appreciatively than was likely appropriate in public.  Harry leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Want to go see if that spell of yours worked on my underwear?"

They left the stands at quite a speed.

THE END

R&R, please!

Xox,

Mia:)


End file.
